


wild heart

by starcanopus



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Baseball Innuendos, Baseball Player Derek Hale, Dirty Talk, M/M, Oblivious Derek Hale, Oblivious Stiles Stilinski, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-17 06:04:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20616203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starcanopus/pseuds/starcanopus
Summary: “I want him to pound me into theground.”Scott, being the complete and utter wimp and metaphorical blushing virgin that he is, predictably sprays coffee all over the notes laid out in front of him.“Stiles!”





	wild heart

_ wild heart _

“I want him to pound me into the _ground_.”

Scott, being the complete and utter wimp and metaphorical blushing virgin that he is, predictably sprays coffee all over the notes laid out in front of him.

“Stiles!” His best friend gapes at him wordlessly, dark liquid dripping from his mouth, regarding Stiles with a rather horrified expression all while trying to quickly dry his ruined notes with a handful of napkins. Which is a little insulting because you’d think that after a lifetime of best friendship, Scott should come to expect things like this from him.

“I’m serious.” Stiles grips the edge of his notebook with a little desperation. Okay, a lot of desperation. Scott doesn’t need to know that though. Doesn’t need to know how Stiles is just _barely_ hanging on. “I want him to _raw_ me until I can’t walk.”

Scott makes a time-out motion, and this time it’s he who looks desperate. “TMI, Stiles! T. M. I. God, what is _wrong_ with you?”

“Look at him, Scott,” hisses Stiles, fingers digging into worn pages, his arms straining, “he’s so fucking perfect, what the actual fuck—”

The subject of Stiles’s desperation, Hot Baseball Player, who’s standing with a friend on the other side of the quad from where Stiles and Scott are sitting, is actually looking rather angry right now, shoulders hunched up defensively as he tosses a baseball into the air experimentally, but it doesn’t make him any less attractive. If anything, the furious slant of his eyebrows is turning Stiles on even more.

Scott twists around but students are pouring out of the nearby buildings from a couple classes ending, briefly obscuring the star of _many_ of Stiles’s sexual fantasies, and he turns back to Stiles. “Bro, who are you talking about? Also, I should probably remind you that I’m not actually gay so, um…”

Stiles waves his friend’s unimportant comment away, “Look at those eyebrows. I could write my senior thesis on them _alone_, not to mention the rest of him, holy _god_, what kind of genes was this guy blessed with?”

“What are you gonna do,” snorts Scott, lowering his gaze to his Physical Chemistry study guide and rolling his eyes hard, “analyze how perfectly identical all his hair follicles are?”

“Actually, eyebrow hair follicles are slightly different than others in terms of their anagen ph- ” a glazed expression is already making its way across Scott’s face so Stiles quickly coughs, “right, that’s not the point. The point is that I want him to fuck me so hard on my bed that my headboard _breaks_. I want him to hold me down and suffocate me with those thighs because Jesus fucking Christ, I’m telling you they were sculpted by the _gods_, Scott, and I would die happy. You know I can deepthroat like nobody’s business—”

“No! No, I would _not_ know that, Stiles! Who the fuck are you even talking about? Actually, I would…really, _really_ appreciate it if you just stopped talking in general.”

“—but I want to suck his cock and _choke_ on it.”

There’s a loud curse and Hot Baseball Player’s friend lets out an alarmed shout and ducks when Hot Baseball Player pitches the baseball a little too hard and it whizzes with frightening speed over the guy’s head, breaking off a branch of the tree behind him upon impact.

There’s a stunned pause before the curly-haired man whirls back around and starts to howl with laughter.

Hot Baseball Player scowls murderously.

Stiles chews on his thumbnail, shaking his head. The man even makes a _mistake_ look natural and aesthetic. How. _How_?

“I want him so bad, Scott, you don’t even _know_.”

“I think I’m getting an idea actually, so thanks for that.” Scott carefully sets down his coffee cup on the grass next to him and daintily folds one hand over the other, clearly having decided that drinking during Stiles’s ongoing tirade would not be a wise choice. Or a safe one.

Hot Baseball Player retrieves the ball and jogs back to his place. His cheeks are tinged red and the adorable flush extends to the tips of his ears, probably to the rest of the skin under his scruff too. Stiles frowns. It’s not like the man to throw so badly. Maybe he’s sick. That would explain the exceptionally bad mood he seems to be in today.

“Stiles,” Scott warns sensibly, “maybe you should hold off on objectifying…whoever you’re objectifying until after we’re done studying. Our midterms are like in…two hours.”

“Objectifying?” Stiles is immensely offended. “You think I see this perfection of a male specimen as a mere object?”

His best friend looks at him like he’s stupid. “Yes.”

“Fuck that.” He scoffs, finally slamming his notebook closed because there’s no way he’s getting any work done with that distraction across the lush green field. “Scott, my buddy, my dude. This guy. He always looks grumpy on the outside but I am a _master_ of seeing through facades. He's totally a jock but he's brilliant and could probably destroy me in a debate and I saw him rescue a puppy from getting run over once, Scott. A puppy. I think I cried a little. I’m like ninety-three percent sure that he’s not real. Because he's also a geek. He has a Batman key-chain on his backpack, Scott. _Batman_. I’ve seen all the ladies—like, model-worthy ladies, dude—hit on him and I’m pretty sure they just want him for his body and don't know how much _depth_ he has. That’s like the whole reason why I haven't tried anything and instead have been reduced to the pathetic mess that I am right now. Because I…I want more than that and he won’t know that. Sure, I also want him to throw me up against the nearest surface and bone me—”

Scott rolls his eyes heavenward. He’s not even religious, the bastard. “Why, God, why me?”

“—but I also want…more. Don’t even get me started on his eyes, Scott. I’ve only seen them up close once but I would swear off sex forever just to spend the rest of my life getting lost in them. They’re like…they’re like the ocean during a storm, all green and blue and grey, and I could drown in them _happily_.”

Hot Baseball Player’s head is tilted to the side as he stares down hard at the ball in his hand like he’s contemplating the best angle to throw it at. Stiles sighs dreamily because man, does he love a person who can concentrate and give something their all.

Scott looks a little impressed. "Wow, you’re really gone for this guy.” 

Which…really? Had he not been listening to a _thing_ Stiles had been saying?

“Dude.” Stiles looks Scott in the eye and explains with full seriousness, “I want to _marry _him. Forget a ten-year plan, I have no patience for that this time. I want cuddles and morning-after breakfasts and I would totally step in front of my dad’s standard issue nine-millimeter for him. I want to _woo_ the hot baseball player and be wooed _by_ the hot baseball player. I want to adopt _babies_ with this man.”

“Wait. Wait wait wait. Stiles. Him?” Scott holds up his hands and then slowly folds the fingers of his right hand except his index finger, pointing directly at Stiles’s dream husband. There’s a strange mixture of expressions on his face, like he’s a bit terrified but also looking a little like Christmas has come early. “You…you’re talking about him. The guy with the baseball.”

“Yeah, duh.”

“Oh, fuck,” breathes Scott and Stiles approves vehemently. Because that’s exactly the thought that had sprung into his mind the first time Stiles had laid eyes on Hot Baseball Player. “Do you even know his name?”

“…No.” admits Stiles unhappily.

Scott winces and widens his eyes, alarmed. “Maybe before making life plans with this guy, you should focus on getting it first. Also—”

“Oh, I want to _get it_ alright. Mm.” Stiles licks his lips.

“Uh—”

“I’m all for taking his last name, whatever it is. I also would not mind him pitching to me for the rest of our lives, let’s be real."

The curly-haired guy is laughing again at something and Hot Baseball Player lifts his arm and points at him, the other fingers curled around the ball as he says something, most likely a couple threats, if the way his friend’s mouth snaps shut is anything to go by. 

“Stiles—”

“I mean, I think I’d be pretty good at pitcher once in a while though—”

“_Stiles_!”

There’s something about Scott’s tone, which is more urgent and serious than how his usually chill best friend normally talks, that has Stiles’s mouth snapping shut. Maybe he took it too far. There’s probably a limit, after all, to how much Scott can handle hearing about how much Stiles loves dick. He asks meekly and quite uncharacteristically, “Yeah?”

Scott lowers his voice. “You remember the alpha that I went to see last week, since you thought it would be a good idea to finally join a pack after I was bitten six months ago. The land here and around the university is all technically her territory. We got on pretty well and she offered me a place in the pack, like I told you this morning.”

Stiles knows all this, but isn’t sure where his friend is going with it. He tells Scott as much.

“Right. I’m getting there. Well, I met the rest of the pack last weekend. And, well, dude. That’s Derek. Her son.”

Stiles blinks. “Okay?”

“Okay…” Scott drags out, cocking his head like he expects Stiles to have some sort of _eureka!_ moment. “So you…get what I’m saying, right?”

No. Not really.

Scott stares at him some more.

Stiles stares back.

Scott arches an eyebrow.

_Alpha. Pack. Son._

And then Stiles closes his eyes and sucks in a sharp breath as things start piecing together. Later, he’d blame his dick for making him so slow on the uptake.

“He…” he opens his eyes and splutters slowly, “He’s a werewolf.”

“Yeah, dude.”

“So then he…” Stiles makes an aborted motion with his hand and continues weakly, “he could probably hear everything I…said.”

“Probably.”

Stiles’s mouth goes dry and he whips his head up to stare across the quad, promptly going into cardiac arrest. Because Hot Baseball Player is looking right at him now, an unreadable expression on his face. His friend slinks up next to him, a sly grin working its way onto his face as he winks in Stiles and Scott’s direction. Stiles glances back at Hot Baseball Player.

Those gorgeous green eyes that Stiles had waxed poetic about to Scott not five minutes ago flash gold.

Oh.

Well.

Okay.

Fuck.

“Cool.” Stiles clears his throat and begins to gather up his papers, shoving them haphazardly into his backpack, not even caring if they get crumpled along the way. He pointedly does not look back across the grass because self-preservation instincts, man. “So I’m just gonna- ” he jerks a thumb behind him vaguely, voice going a little high and shaky, “I’m just gonna disappear and maybe drop out. I hear Siberia’s looking very nice this time of year. I’ll see you around maybe in a few years, Scott.”

“Stiles…” His best friend looks sympathetic but there’s no helping Stiles’s anxiety right now because he’s breathing faster and faster and he _really_ needs to be anywhere _but_ here.

He makes his escape from the quad in record time, ignoring Scott calling after him. Stiles quickly rounds the corner of the biochemistry department building, cursing to himself the whole way as he makes a beeline towards the block where his apartment is. And since he’s still glowering down at the ground out of embarrassment, of course he doesn’t notice the person leaning against the brick wall.

“It’s Hale.”

Stiles manfully lets out a yelp. _Manfully_.

And clutches his bag to his chest like a frightened old woman, staring wildly at Hot Ba- Derek who’s standing there, one foot propped up against the wall, muscled arms folded as he drags his gaze lazily over Stiles.

How did he get there so fast?

Oh, right.

“Uh…what? What.” His brain still hasn’t rebooted yet so Stiles just stands there uselessly, hands clenching and unclenching around the strap of his messenger bag.

“My name.” The werewolf clears his throat and pushes off the wall. “It’s Derek. Derek Hale. Since it seems like you wanted to know for future reference. For…when we get married, apparently."

The guy's lips twitch when he looks at Stiles.

He replies rather intelligently, “Uh.”

And somewhere deep in his traitorous little brain, the thought of _Stiles Hale_ surfaces.

He wants to die just a tiny bit. Hell probably also looks like a very nice place this time of year, doesn't it?

“I’m...Stiles.” It’s only fair for him to offer up his name to the man he’s been creeping on for the entire semester and he's not sure how to start apologizing for verbally expressing how much he wants to get dicked down by the man in front of him.

“I know.”

“Yeah, so—”

Wait.

Huh?

Stiles gapes at Derek. “You…what?”

He freezes when Derek steps close enough for Stiles to feel the other man's body heat.

Derek reaches up a hand to trace Stiles’s lips with one thumb and what he says next has Stiles's brain short-circuiting for the third time in an hour, “I’ve wondered for _weeks_ how your pretty lips would look wrapped around my cock.”

“Weeks.” Stiles repeats slowly and he's so incredibly turned on right now because he had _not_ expected Hot Baseball Player to be one for dirty talking. “You…know me. You’ve thought about me. For weeks.”

The corners of Derek’s lips turn up into a small smile, though the tips of the man’s ears are a little pink. It's appallingly hot and adorable at the same time.

"You have a distracting oral fixation with pens."

He's not wrong.

“And,” and apparently there are even _greater_ epitomes to reach because Derek glances around before his eyes glow and he’s baring his teeth, revealing an impressive set of fangs, and Stiles’s breath catches from a mixture of surprise and lust, “I _am _a werewolf. Which means I _could_ definitely break your headboard. If you meant what you said.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles whispers. Is he dreaming? He has to be dreaming.

And then the realization hits him like a freight train.

“We could have been fucking for _weeks_?” gasps Stiles, outraged.

Derek just lifts his chin and laughs and Stiles is a little entranced by the way the guy's Adam's Apple bobs. He swallows nervously when Derek's eyes turn back towards him, serious now, and the man steps back, gaze dipping heavily up and down Stiles's body once again.

“I’ll be at the baseball field until nine. So whenever you finish your midterm, you can find me there.”

And then he flashes Stiles a smirk, turning to walk back towards the quad.

“Dude.”

Stiles twists to find Scott standing behind him, Stiles’s half-finished coffee in one hand, staring after Derek with disbelief.

He nods, following his friend’s attention on Hot B- _Derek Hale_’s retreating back, and returns with just as much gravity, “_Dude_.”

* * *

Stiles walks with a limp for the next two weeks.

He’s so far up on cloud nine that Scott’s wrinkled nose and judgmental expressions can’t even bring him down from it.

It’s _awesome_.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Title from song: [Wild Heart](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zupq0CPAQS8) by Bleachers


End file.
